This Called for Gin
Ben is one hell of a manipulator. I didn’t dare put anything ahead of his work. Every day, I started with his material and only then moved on to the telecom translations. There seemed to be more and more of those arriving every week, too. If I had the time, I’d pull out the contract and check whether we’d really agreed to this volume of work, but right now I don’t have a single spare minute.
Especially since Ryan’s kids weren’t with him this week.
We made love every morning and every evening. My God, what an incredible week I had. I didn’t have this much sex even in my prime.
Last Sunday evening, he texted to say he’d be dropping by Monday morning. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. At the time, it never even crossed my mind that it might be better if he left quickly afterward. I wanted him desperately. Nothing else mattered.
The moment he stepped through the door, we were all over each other. We didn’t make it any farther than the couch.
“Enjoy yourself, Emily. I’m already gone,” he announced, springing to his feet.
He pulled up the jeans that had been pushed down to his knees, kissed me on the forehead, and headed for the door.
“Hey! That’s it?” I called after him, pretending to be offended, though I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. “You just fuck me and leave?”
Flushed and smug, he shrugged.
“Be grateful I’ve contributed to your emotional well-being. Now get back to work. Work doesn’t do itself.” He grabbed the handle. “Oh,” he added, turning back from the doorway, “I’ll come over tonight when I’m done. Be ready by nine. No clothes.” He pointed at me sternly. “Don’t worry. It won’t even take this long.”
He laughed.
By the time I’d fully processed what he’d said, the door had already closed behind him.
Despite his promise, the evening sex lasted more than an hour because I didn’t want to let him go. Which was funny, considering he’d spent a grand total of twelve minutes in my apartment that morning. I clung to him like a baby monkey, even though by then I was exhausted. His closeness, his skin, the way he touched me—it was unmatched.
And I wanted him badly.
By the next day, my new routine already felt completely normal: wake up at six, quick breakfast, work, fifteen-minute sex break, work, lunch, twenty-five squats on the balcony, work, squats, work, dinner, work, forty minutes of sex, work, five hours of sleep.
I avoided mirrors. I had no desire to see the dark circles under my eyes or how worn out I looked.
The only annoying thing was that Ryan could see it too. Much easier not to think about it. Besides, I wasn’t seeing anyone else.
I missed my walks, though. I planned to bring them back next week. More specifically, on days when there wasn’t any sex. On those days, I’d try replacing orgasms with a quick lap around the block. We’d see how successful that turned out to be.
Worst case, I’d get home and let out a satisfied moan at the front door.
Adele practically begged to have lunch at my place on Friday. By then, she’d already finished at the law office and could go home to study for her upcoming bar exam. For now, my dear friend was surprisingly balanced, but I was already dreading the level of stress the exam would bring once the date got really close.
It destroys everyone.
For now, she was still pleasant company.
She arrived carrying lunch, dressed in a tailored suit, high heels, and a polka-dot silk scarf around her neck. She’d brought Russian salad, meat salad, and rice with walnuts and raisins. The main course, apparently, was herb-butter toast.
When I saw it all, I nearly laughed, but with September’s exam looming over her, I kept a straight face while spooning everything into bowls.
“Would yesterday’s fossilized chicken breast go well with this?” I asked.
Her shoulders immediately sagged with relief.
“Absolutely,” she sighed.
After a few bites, she got to the real reason she’d come.
“So, what’s Ben like? I mean, does he seem normal?”
“He’s nice. A real gentleman,” I answered immediately.
I thought that was more than enough information when describing a client.
Adele pursed her lips.
“Oh, come on, Emily. Do I really have to drag every piece of information out of you? What I want to know is whether he’s sexy. Is he handsome? Would you sleep with him?”
“What?” I shrieked. “Of course I wouldn’t sleep with someone that much older than me!”
“How old is he?”
“How should I know?” I muttered. “Around forty-five.”
“That’s not old, Emily. That’s premium.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“Oh, really? And where exactly are you getting this wisdom from?”
“Dave’s thirty-five.”
“That’s still ten years younger, you realize?”
“Maybe. But men hit their peak between forty and fifty. After that comes the midlife crisis and all the whining about not wanting to get old.”
I hummed in appreciation.
“Well, look at that. Adele. You really are an expert on men.”
She shrugged and stood up.
“I know you’re making fun of me.”
She opened the refrigerator door and, as usual, disappeared into it up to her waist.
See? This is why having a giant refrigerator is so useful. What would she do if she had to hide her anxiety inside one of those tiny knee-high things?
“I’m not making fun of you, but let’s not pretend we have all this experience with men twenty years older than us. And I don’t believe for a second that this age group is actually your type.”
She straightened up and planted her hands on her hips.
“Emily, you forget that I spend my days around lawyers and politicians. Most of them are somewhere between fifty and death. My eyes have adjusted.”
She pulled out a cucumber, washed it quickly, and started slicing it over her plate.
“Funny, considering you got all hot and bothered over your twenty-year-old car thief.”
That landed.
I didn’t take my eyes off her. Adele’s face instantly burst into flames. Even her neck turned red at the mention of him.
“He only broke into them. He didn’t actually steal them,” she whispered.
I laughed.
“Looks like you’ve got a pretty wide range. Anything from twenty to fifty works for you.”
She waved me off irritably.
“The guy is ridiculously muscular, and it’s obvious he’s a sex god.”
“At the ripe old age of twenty?” I interrupted. “Didn’t you just say men are only really good after forty?”
“But he’s a genuine bad boy,” she groaned, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
For a while, I simply stared at my lawyer friend, who clearly had no idea what she actually wanted. A fifty-year-old lawyer, Dave—her arrogant politician boyfriend—or a twenty-year-old, wild-eyed car thief.
Quite a selection. She wasn’t in an easy position, that was for sure. Assuming she actually wanted to choose between them.
“I’ve been sleeping with a divorced karate instructor,” I announced suddenly.
The confession surprised me as much as it surprised her. I’d thought I wasn’t ready to tell her yet.
Adele’s jaw dropped.
“What the hell?” she shrieked.
Pretending to be relaxed, with my knees trembling under the table, I speared a forkful of walnut rice. I nodded approvingly, as if Adele had cooked it herself.
She slapped both hands onto the table.
“Tell me already!”
Her nostrils flared. Her face twitched with nervous anticipation.
“I accidentally got involved with a guy who lives in the building.”
“How the fuck do you accidentally get involved with someone?” she squealed in exactly the same unbearable pitch.
I covered my mouth to stop myself from laughing.
The combination of anger, curiosity, and jealousy on Adele’s face was spectacular. The colors seemed to change every second.
I told her everything.
She listened without blinking, frozen like a statue. After I finished, she sat there silently for several more minutes, staring into space.
“Fuck, I’m so unbelievably jealous of you,” she whispered at last.
She stood up and walked to the refrigerator with robotic movements. She took out the gin and, without a moment’s hesitation, drank straight from the bottle.
“This is fucking impossible,” she muttered to herself before taking another long swallow.